


Thug Life

by MashpotatoeQueen5



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: And are just like, Are a kid??, Based on a Tumblr Post, Batdad, Because not every thug is a bad guy, Bruises, Close enough I guess, Concussions, Confusion, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson gets kidnapped so often it's not even funny, Dick Grayson is Robin, Geez, Gen, Henchmen, Hurt Dick Grayson, I bet you lot of them are just doing it for the dental work, I mean like I saw it on pinterest but it was a tumblr post, I'll add more as I go along, I'm not fighting you!!!!, Inspired By Tumblr, Kidnapping, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Morally Ambiguous Character, Non-Consensual Drug Use, OC, OCS where the whole story is revolving around them, OCs - Freeform, Or to pay off loans, Protective Batman, Protective Batman is protective, Protective Bruce, Random people who meet Robin on the job, Robin just wants Batman, Their not actually all blood thirsty or whatever, This is just for the first chapter, What is Batman thinking!?!?!, You??? - Freeform, and so on and so forth - Freeform, but like, daddy bats, not like, this is insane, thugs - Freeform, well characters, you get what i mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5
Summary: Because even in Gotham a lot of people wouldn't try to beat up a kid, even if said kid was dressing up like a traffic light and taking out bad guys with absurd amounts of training.Otherwise known as the fic where thugs have hearts and help out the various batkids over the years, because most people don't look at thirteen year olds and ten year olds and whatever year olds and want to kill them, even if their boss does.





	Thug Life

**Author's Note:**

> Heeey??
> 
> I have a thousand fics to write but I wrote this instead so HERE!!!
> 
> I have no idea how often I'll update this- whenever I'm in the mood I guess- but I hope you enjoy this first chapter!!

Frank bit his lip, gun gripped tight in his hands and eyes steadfastly fixed on the alleyway below, where one of his crew members was fake beating up a newbie in the beginnings of their trap.

They were going to catch a Robin.

Of course, Frank had never seen the famed second half of the dynamic duo- few had- but he knew what he was expecting. A huge hulking man, perhaps young twenties or late, late teens- they had told Frank he was young- just as terrifying as the Bat himself. The other boys- the few that had seen him, anyways- had described the figure as quite acrobatic, although Joe was never really one to trust, being a sadistic bastard.

Frank sighed, rolled his shoulders: just one more gig and he was done. 

His family had fallen into a rut, gotten on bad terms with the local gangsters for living on their land and then into debt when they were unable to pay the ‘security money.’ Not knowing what else he could do, and unable to support himself and his family with his meager day job at McDonalds, he did the only thing he could think of.

He joined the gang.

It was just… minor crimes, and sometimes not even that. Frank wasn’t a big man, but he knew how to do paperwork and how to clean and how to stand around with a gun, and that was all that was really necessary. It got him a good pay, and he kept out of trouble, and so he thought he could make it.

But… but it wasn’t enough. His family was still in debt, they were still on gangsterland and their house about to be demolished, and they had too little money to go somewhere else and support themselves.

He was stuck in a rut, one where the price of losing was his family’s life.

And then this job popped up. 

This job… was an actual crime. It was kidnapping. It was illegal…. But at least it was some insane vigilante who knew what he was signing up for instead of some local innocent who just wanted to get home safe to their families.

That was what Frank told himself, as he crouched low on the roof and tried to ignore his sweating palms and guilty conscience, over and over again.

The ‘victim’ gave out another dramatic cry, and then, finally, something happened.

Just… not what Frank was expecting.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing!?”

He tensed, ready for action, ready for the terror of the night to fall down from the heavens and crush their ranks, but then he paused.

That…. That was a _ child’s voice _ .

Was some over righteous kid butting in and getting in the way of their plan?

But no, the people besides him were prepping themselves and one of the men muttered, “That’s him,” and Frank suddenly felt slightly sick because that was a kid,  _ a kid _ they were nabbing….

“Let’s go.”

On autopilot, Frank dropped to the ground with the rest of the crew, raising his gun and pointing it directly at the kid in unison with the others. On the inside, however, he was panicking and feeling sick to his stomach because now he could actually see the boy and geez,  _ what was Batman thinking!? _

Because this child couldn’t be any older than eight, at the very least, and he was even smaller than his little girl, dressed in ridiculously bright colours and sporting soft downy black hair that only comes from youth. He was _ tiny _ , and now Frank was in charge of capturing him.

The kid whirled around, bright yellow cape flashing, and was in a standard defensive position between them and the supposed victim, his eyes widening at their sudden appearance and startling numbers, before settling into a determined look.

Something in Frank’s chest  _ clenched _ .

The others seemed to not be held back by his issues, charging the kid in a mass of weapons and fists. The kid just started- well,  _ flying,  _ leaping from one guy to the next in a series of complicated twists and twirls and flips, and Frank would be impressed- was impressed, actually- but the kid still stuck his tongue out when he was concentrating, just like Carla did when she was colouring, and he was laughing as if everything was a game as he knocked thugs out and  _ this kid was far too young to be doing this _ .

The kid finally touched ground again, eyes turning to check on the supposed ‘victim’, and Frank felt sick again as Charlie- the man they had playing damsel- swung his club and smashed it against Robin’s skull, instantly knocking the brightly clad hero out.

Robin crumpled to the ground like a torn piece of paper, and for some reason Frank was by his side and swooping him up into his arms before he could bang his head on the harsh cement as well and worsen his probable concussion.

No one noticed him, too busy congratulating each other on nabbing the hostage, and Frank wondered how he ended up in this mess, amidst heartless men with an unconscious kid in his arms.

The men were all laughing, slapping each other on the back and whooping as if they had mastered some big conquest. Then one of them was heading over to him, needle prepped and sharp in hand.

Frank tugged the boy a little closer to him.

“What are you  _ doing! _ ?”

It came out as a hiss, and he was  _ mad _ , because this was a kid, just a kid, and now this guy was  _ drugging _ him after already _ knocking him unconscious _ . Was this man  _ insane _ !?

His fellow thug shrugged, gesturing to the boy casually, as if addressing a lump of meat.

“Just a little somethin’ ta keep th’ kiddie quiet, cool it.”

Frank wanted to yell at him, wanted to throw up, wanted to spirit the kid away and put him somewhere safe, but he didn’t, cause he was a coward and didn’t have the guts, instead simply watching as the large figure inserted the needle tip into the boy’s neck.

Then they were loading up into the van and for some reason Frank was placed as the dedicated ‘Robin holder,’ even though he was one of the scrawniest thugs of the group.

But, looking down on the tiny kid who had already been knocked out and drugged- who was so much like his little Carly, who was so  _ young _ \- he couldn’t bring himself to complain. He knew that if any of the others were holding him, the boy would probably be black and blue before five minutes was up.

So Frank didn’t argue, he just got into the van and sat in silence as the rest of the men and women messed around. It wasn’t all too different from normal, really; Frank was often the quiet one, unwilling to truly buddy up to murderers and thieves.

Except this time there was a kid on his lap, and Frank was more like the rest of them than he had ever been.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t sit right in his stomach. He just kept thinking and thinking and thinking, because what if this had been  _ his daughter? _ What if it had been his little angel? What if it had been  _ his wife _ ?

The thought made him feel sick, and he quickly shoved it away.

They eventually arrived at the base, and old abandoned factory with some ancient dorm rooms to boot, and unloaded from the truck, Frank still dealing with his conflicted emotions and the other thugs still dealing with the high of their success.

“Oi, Frankie! Give me the brat’s belt, would ya?”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Frank unlatched the small yellow utility belt from the kids waist and tossed it at Joe, hoping the larger man wouldn’t see how reluctant he was about doing it.

“Boots too, bub.”

The boots came off and were tossed as well.

“Excellent. Shove ‘em in the back room, Frank. Make sure he’s not bugged or anythin’ first. He drugged up enough that he shouldn’ offer ya no trouble.”

Frank could only nod and trudge off to the closet of a room that he and the men had ‘Robin-proofed’ earlier. At the time, he had been confused, thinking the area a tad on the small side for a grown man. Now that he knew better, something in his heart clenched.

The room had no windows and several industrial locks and two deadbolts that could only unlocked from the outside. There was no heating, no furniture, no nothing. Just plain grey cement and a door heavily secured to keep a highly trained prisoner in.

A highly trained prisoner who was just a kid.

A highly trained prisoner who was letting loose a small murmur of some unintelligible words, shifting ever so slightly to find a more comfortable position in his arms, small face screwed up in some subconscious displeasure- or maybe from pain, Frank didn’t know- just like Carly sometimes did when she was having a night terror.

The kid was young. So terribly, terribly young. 

His heart a dead weight in his stomach, Frank wrapped the cape around the small slumped figure’s form as tightly as he could, hoping to at least try and block off some of the worst of the cold. Then he stood up and prepared himself to leave, to head back into the throng…

And stopped.

And leaned against the inside wall and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to view some more grey cement.

He needed a shave. And a shower. And possibly a life check up, because he had imagined many different possible futures for himself when he was growing up, but this wasn’t one of them.

_ What was Batman thinking? _

(What was  _ he _ thinking? This was wrong. This was bad. Frank was kidnapping an innocent from the streets. He was a bad guy. What if it had been Carly?  _ What if? _ )

He didn’t know how long had passed- maybe couple of hours, maybe four- when he heard a small moan come from inside the room, and then the sound of retching.

Frank stood for several seconds, stock still. He should go and tell the guys that the bird was waking up, get his next load of instructions, pick up his paycheck, go _ home _ , but at the same time, at the same time-

Another retch from inside the room.

Frank made his decision.

Hastily, he pried open the deadbolts and used his jittering fingers to use his key and open the locks.

And then he swung open the door.

He didn’t know what he was suspecting, maybe for the kid to attack to him, but what he got was the young hero on all fours in the corner, breathing heavily through his nose as he vomited once more, his body repelling the strong drugs in its system. There was a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead and two high splotches of colour on his cheeks, which stood out clearly because the boy’s face was unusually pale for it’s tanned skin tone.

Slowly, shakily, the boy sat up on his knees and scooched away from the pile of vomit until he reached the opposite corner of the small room, bare feet scrambling across the cold dirty ground. Only then did the kid turn his seemingly weary eyes- he couldn’t tell completely through the whites of the mask- on him.

Frank stared. Robin stared back.

And then-

“Who’re you? Wher’s Batman?”

Robin’s voice was slurring slightly the words coming out half formed and instinctive, no thought placed behind them. Frank noticed distantly, through the confused, miserable haze in his mind, that there was blood clotting some of the kid’s black locks, red trickling down the side of his small forehead.

It was obvious that the drugs were still very much in play. And very possibly a concussion as well.

And so the older man took it slow, sitting himself down wearily in front of the door.

“ I- uh, I’m Frank, and Batman’s… not here right now.”

Robin frowned.

“Why’s not? He.. he’s s’posed to be here, we’re partners, ‘nd h-he p- _ promised _ -”

Mentally, he began to swear in his head. The kid was going to start crying. He was going to blow. Carly sometimes got like this when she went to bed too late; overly emotional and highly prone to long, long, sob fests of every little horrible thing that had ever gone wrong, when in reality she had simply stubbed her toe.

Except, of course, in this scenario there was every reason for a tantrum. The kid was kidnapped, hurt, drugged, and taken from his father. ( _ Father? Was Batman Robin’s father? _ ) It would be a surprise if the kid  _ wasn’t  _ upset.

“H-He pr-p-promised, he said he’d n-never l-leave me ‘nd th-that we’d be partners  _ f-forever _ -”

Frank scooched himself forward, hands wanting to pull the small figure into a hug but unsure as to how the action could be perceived. In the end, he settled on placing a hopefully soothing palm on the kid’s knee.

“Hey ki- hey, uh, Robin. Hey. It’s- don’t you worry, okay? Don’t you worry. I’m sure… Batman will be here soon.”

The kid, who had wrapped himself up in his cape and had buried his head into his knees, looked up, masked eyes wide.

“Y-you think so?”

Frank thought about if the roles were reversed, if it was his daughter taken and locked up somewhere far away and dangerous. He imagined what he would do in that situation, who he would have turned to. He knew that he would never have just sat idly by.

And so he said, “I know so,” and prayed that the kid didn’t ask how.

They sat for a long while, Robin _ just  _ staring at him and Frank staring right back, until finally he can’t help the question spilling from his mouth.

“How’d you get into this stuff, kid? This isn’t the place for young people.”

He meant it in both the literal and figurative sense. Robin did not belong in the narrowly crammed, too cold room, and nor did he belong in the business of fighting crime.

The boy blinked, heavy and slow, tired. Then he shrugged, small shoulders rising and falling underneath the wrapped around cape.

“Batman really hated it, but I kept runnin’ out and fightin’ on my own and he was scared I’d get hurt so he made sure he was with me instead and that I could do it properly.”

Frank blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Do you think Batman’ll be here soon?”

The voice was small.

Frank opened his mouth to answer when there was a heavy vibration shaking through the door, a loud pounding sound ringing in his ears to accompany it.

“Frankie! Stop playin’ with the brat, boss wants us!”

He froze, because sitting in the empty too cold room talking with the small too young Robin had made him forget just why he was there in the first place. That he was one of the thugs. That he was one of the bad guys.

That he had a family to feed and money to earn so that he could move them, so that he could protect them.

That if he didn’t cooperate, having _ his _ little girl in such a horrible position might happen for real, and would no longer be simply a ‘what if.’

So he gave a small, sad smile to Robin, who sat still and young in the corner, and hoped that it would be enough to explain all his everlasting regret and sorrow, because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It never should have been like this.

And then he left, shoulders low, and the deadbolts slid into place and the locks clicked shut, leaving their very young prisoner very much alone.

Because Frank was a bad guy. And he had too much too loose to do anything differently.

* * *

 

Frank's eyes were wide.

Frank's eyes were wide because he was sitting on a plastic chair and listening as the boss went on and on about how they were going to broadcast live to the world on their keeping of Robin, and how they planned on beating the kid up a little on screen to add a little more ‘accreditation’ on the fact that they meant business.

They were planning on beating up an eight or something year old kid.

And it was in those few moments that he reevaluated his situation. He thought of his wife, how disappointed and disgusted she would be in him if he went through with it. He thought of their situation, of how they could work around it, go out and live out of their car for a while or something. He thought of himself, of whether or not he would be able to live with himself if he condoned to beating up someone who could have been his own kid, in another life, and found himself thinking no, he wouldn’t be able to.

He thought of Carly, of his daughter, of his little angel, of sitting down in front of her and staring into her big brown eyes, telling her that he beat up a little kid so that she could be safe, that he did it for her, and how she would react. About how her big trusting brown eyes would fall.

And he knew he couldn’t do it.

He had to get the kid out. He had to get _ Robin _ out.

But he couldn’t just release Robin from his prison and direct him to the outside world through the warehouse. He couldn’t; his family could be in serious danger if he did, and he didn’t dare risk it.

So he had to find another way. And the only other way he could think of would be….

Would be getting Batman to Robin first.

Except he had no way of contacting the man. No way of communicating with him. There was a reason the thugs were just broadcasting everything live instead of making direct contact; no one knew how to do so.

But Batman was a detective, right? So maybe if Frank went back to the scene of the crime, he’d find him there.

And so, as soon as he unsuspiciously could, Frank did just that, and be it by some mysterious coincidence or down right luck, or maybe even fate smiling down upon him, the man was there, crouching low in the shadows of the corner where Charlie had knocked the kid down the first time.

The Batman was not smiling. The Batman was scowling. And he was terrifying. 

One step. That was all it took. Frank took one, single, meager step, and the Batman was upon him.

He was slammed against the dirty brick wall, the intimidating man’s larger frame pressing him by the neck and the shoulders, and the white eyes of the cowl staring at him unblinkingly.

“ _ Who the hell are you? _ ”

Frank couldn’t breathe- even though the pressure on his neck wasn’t _ too _ tight- for the sheer fear that swept over him. His mind cast out far and wide, searching for a reason for the Batman not to kill him, searching for anything to prove his relative innocence.

The words that come out of his throat were desperate and breathy, and far too full of fear.

“I know where Robin is!”

Batman did not let go. Batman did not suddenly become friendly. No, instead, Batman simply growled, pressing him even tighter against the wall.

And now Frank _ really  _ couldn’t breathe, because the man in black was pressing his forearm against his windpipe and there simply wasn’t any _ air _ .

“ _ Please _ \- Trying- to _ ‘elp _ -”

The pressure was released and Frank collapsed to the ground, coughing.

“Who are you?”

The voice was deep. Gravelly.  _ Terrifying _ . Frank just kept breathing, hoping his voice wasn’t too shaky when it finally did leave his mouth.

“Frank Kristens, sir. Um- I was one of the guys who nabbed your kid.”

The Batman didn’t say anything. Just stared. As cold and as judgemental as death.

He finally managed to gather his courage to stand up and look the vigilante in the eye, or, well cowl.

“Look- I know it was wrong. I know it. That’s why I’m here now. To help and try to- fix my mistakes. I just- you can take me to prison, or whatever it is you do. Just take care of my family- please. You’re a hero, right? They ain't got no part in this. Protect them. Please. That’s all I ask.”

Frank bit his lip, waiting for the gavel to fall, waiting for his judgement, but there was none. There was only Batman. Staring.

And then-

“ _ Where’s Robin? _ ”

The question came out more of a demand, one that had Frank spilling his guts about the gang he had worked at and their current base at the old factory, about the small closet of a room with the deadbolts and the locks that Robin was being kept in, about the idea of the live broadcasting at 12:05 PM sharp, about where the belt and the boots were probably being kept, and even about the drugs, even though it made the Batman clench his fists and grow slightly under his breath.

And when at last there were no more word to speak, and Frank had fallen silent, the Batman turned to go, only to freeze at the cusps of the shadows.

“Thank you.”

And then he was gone. 

Frank, on jittery legs and with shaking lungs, made his way back to the base.

Showing up, his movements were stiff and his eyes flickered nervously about, expecting every moment for someone to point at him and charge, yelling of betrayal and death and revenge. Or perhaps for an avenging Bat to crash through the skylight, raining his wrath upon them all.

But nothing happened.

So he went about his business as usual, taking out his cleaning supplies and quickly and quietly cleaning up the meeting place before filling out some paperwork and warrants. Then, soon after, Frank nervously made his way to where Robin was being held, a plate of food in hand.

To his surprise, there was four guards standing outside of the door.

“What’s going on?”

One of the larger thugs- Frank noted that she had a heavy bruise on her temple- shrugged, shifting a cigarette around in her mouth and standing casually with a heavy assault rifle in hand.

“Birdie escaped ‘n hour ago so we figured we’d just drug ’em up again. We’re just a bit’a extra security, thas’ all.”

Frank blinked, trying to ignore the anger welling up in his soul on the fact that the kid had been put under the influence  _ again, _ and nodded.

“Right, well… um, I have food for him.”

The intimidating woman stared at him for several moments suspiciously, and he almost just dropped the plate and ran, but then she was stepping to the side and unlatching the locks, so he took a deep breath and made his way through.

Robin was curled up in the corner again, this time on his side, looking thoroughly miserable and small.

Loudly, as to not startle the bird, Frank placed the platter of food on the floor and nudged it towards the kid.

“Um- Robin? I have food for ya, if you want it.”

The boy stirred, shifting slightly, but then settled again, mumbling nonsense.

“Robin?”

His voice was slightly louder this time, but there was still no reaction, and so Frank reached out and gently placed a hand on the boy’s caped shoulder.

The kid shot up as if he had blown a foghorn in his ear, his back slamming against the corner wall within microseconds. Frank hastily scooched back, raising his arms to show as a sign of peace, and held his breath, remembering all too well how Batman had slammed him against the wall.

There were fresh bruises on the kid’s neck and cheek, and on one small wrist was a shackle that had not been there before, the skin beneath it raw and bleeding. On the opposite arm was a mass of bulging red and purple, presumably where a needle was hastily jabbed. The boy’s breaths were strangely heavy as well, rattling in his throat, and he wavered ever so slightly from where he sat, as if on the verge of collapse.

For several moments, there was silence, and then-

“...rank?”

Frank tried for a smile.

“That’s me. You doin’ okay over there, kiddo?”

Robin blinked at him dully from behind his mask.

“Don’s feel s’ good… dizzy.”

Robin’s words were slurring heavily, his head listing side to side as he curled ever so slightly into himself.

Frank frowned.

“I’m sorry to hear that... I brought some food for ya, if you’re up for it.”

The kid's face blanched and he ever so slightly shook his head, looking as if he was about to be sick.

Frank bit his lip, shoving the food behind him to keep it out of sight. So much for  _ that  _ idea.

“Mr. Frank? Y’know ‘ere Batm’n is?”

Frank wished he could draw the kid into his arm and tell him that Batman was coming soon to get him, that everything was going to be okay, that his father would be there soon to swoop him away and keep him safe again. But, but he couldn’t. Not only because Robin would probably freak at the movement, but because Frank just didn’t know if anyone was listening, or watching, or something. He couldn’t risk it.

Instead, he just pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“It’ll all be over soon, kiddo. I promise. It’s all gonna be over soon.”

And of course, in those few moments, the alarms began to blare. 

Frank stood up and resisted the urge to curse, glancing at the door and then at the kid, who had his hands clasped over his ears and his face screwed up in pain. The loud wail of the systems was probably making his drug induced headache a thousand times worse, and Frank winced in sympathy for him.

But then the guards- along with a few other members of the gang- slammed the door open, and the sirens got even louder, accompanied by the sound of distant fighting and explosions and gunshots.

“What’s going on!?” 

Frank demanded the answer with a shouted voice, even though he knew perfectly well what was happening. He just had to buy a little more time for Batman to swoop in and save the day. Just a little bit more time…

The female guard from before grunted, shoving Frank lightly out of the way as she crouched down in front of Robin and started to unlock his shackled wrist.

“The Bat’s here. Gotta move the kid.”

The guards behind the woman were sweating, eyes flickering in nervous fear. After having met the man, Frank couldn’t help but feel that it was an apt reaction.

The lock clicked, the shackle fell loose, and Robin cried out as the woman roughly grabbed his bruised arm, breaths wheezing through his mouth. Frank wondered if there was something wrong with the kid’s ribs.

But the thug was going to storm off, Robin in tow, and Frank couldn’t have that.

“Uh- I- um, wait! Wait. I- uh, I’ll take him.”

Again, the woman gave him a suspicious look, but then he had an armful of Robin in his grasp and the moment passed.

And then they were filing out of the room and storming through the chaotic corridors, red lights still flashing and alarm blazing, and Frank was still holding Robin and was still wondering  _ Where the hell was Batman  _ and then-

And then the lights flickered out and the alarms silenced, and Frank was left thinking,  _ Oh, There he is _ . 

Robin giggled against his collarbone, obviously out of it and sounding profoundly _ creepy _ in the sudden silence.

“ _ Batman’s gonna get you! _ ”

The only sound that filled the silence was harsh breathing and Robin’s continuous quiet giggles, and after several moments the woman was grunting, calling for everyone to move forwards, and Frank was despairing, because they needed to stay still-

And then the woman’s voice suddenly cut off with a shout, and Frank caught a glimpse of a swirling cape and bright white lenses in the inky darkness.

The other thugs were yelling, firing randomly out into the blackness, and Frank shifted Robin in his arms and slammed himself against the wall, out of the way.

He could hardly see the Bat or his ex-comrades, just smidgets of people fighting and swinging out wildly in the hopes of hitting someone. Mostly, he heard people grunting and the sound of flesh on flesh.

“Frank?”

The word was muffled and distant, slurred and far too quiet.

Frank looked down at the mop of black hair resting on his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Think ‘m just gonna pass out now…”

His eyes widened, and he jostled the kid a bit.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that, bud. Batman’s here-”

“Tha’s why ‘sokay…”

“- and he’s going to wanna talk to you. C’mon, Robin, stay awake-”

Robin finally looked up at him, the whites of his mask blown wide.

“‘m _ tired _ …”

The words came out almost as a sob, cracking on the last word, and Frank was once again reminded about how young and small Robin seemed in his arms.

And then suddenly someone was trying to tug the kid out of his grip, and Frank reacted on instinct when he just held on tighter, but looking up revealed that the person on the other side of the Robin tug-a-war was  _ Batman _ and he hastily let go.

Batman didn’t even bother glaring at him, murmuring softly to the kid in his arms in some language that he couldn’t understand and then listening intently as the kid responded.

Frank cleared his throat.

“They gave him a second round of drugs and a bit of a beat up while I was out, I’d have him checked for overdose and injuries and stuff.”

The Batman didn’t say anything. Frank shifted his feet. Robin mumbled something unintelligible.

The whole complex was quiet, and Frank wondered if the man had taken out the entire mob.

Finally, there was a sigh.

“Police will be arriving in five minutes. I suggest you clear out before they get here.”

Before Frank could even blink, the dynamic duo had vanished into thin air, and something inside of him finally loosened.

He had done something right. He had finally done something right, and it felt good. It felt  _ amazing _ . It felt a little bit like… like being a hero.

That night, Frank pulled his daughter close and held her for several moments, tight and strong, and then repeated the motion with his wife. Frank was going to fix this. He was going to fix all of this. And this time, he was going to fix it right.

He gets himself a new job, and there was less money but it was still enough, and with the mob gone he didn’t need to pay for protection, which helped. It was still a struggle, however, and their meals were small and their school funding minimal. But Frank was going to fix it. It would just take time.

Later, he would revel in the fact that the time had been so much shorter than he had expected, because a week later he opened his door in response to a quiet knock, only to be faced with an envelope filled with references, set dates and times for job interviews, one even for Wayne Industries.

Frank could hardly breathe in shock, and when he looked out into the night, trying to find his benefactors, he spotted nothing.

However, as he turned to enter the house and tell his wife the good news, he thought he saw the image of a large intimidating figure in black and a smaller, brightly coloured, kid standing right besides him out of the corner of his eye, hiding in the darkness between the dimly lit spotlights.

He didn’t turn to check, but an echo of a giggle filled his ears, and he smiled.

It was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
